


Player Status: Offline

by Gray Cardinal (Gray_Cardinal)



Category: Where on Earth is Carmen Sandiego?
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-22
Updated: 2011-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:23:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gray_Cardinal/pseuds/Gray%20Cardinal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world doesn't stop running when the Player is away from the keyboard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Player Status: Offline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aworldinside](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aworldinside/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** _The Carmen Sandiego franchise originated with Broderbund Software/The Learning Company, and the animated series – whose versions of the characters appear here – was developed and produced by DIC (now under the Cookie Jar TV umbrella)._

_San Francisco, CA • 6:58 am_

In a comfortable house halfway up one of the city’s famous hills, one of the Acme Detective Agency’s top detectives stretched, turned her head sideways on her pillow, and glanced at her alarm clock, whose digital readout glowed a steady, soothing blue.  Yawning, Ivy rolled over and went back to sleep.  At least for the moment, it appeared she had the day off.

Across the hall, Zack was already out of bed, prowling the ‘Net and exchanging email with Acme’s Z-Section programming team, trying to gain the security clearances necessary to get his hands on the C5 Corridor source code.  As usual, they were putting him off, and he had (reluctantly) stopped trying to hack his way in after the Chief had read him the [riot act](http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext05/rtact10h.htm) and threatened to have him cut from the Player’s detective roster.

#

_7:11 am_

At Acme Headquarters, the Chief was – as usual – multitasking.  “We’ve got to be ready,” he said, simultaneously addressing six different departments on six different communications channels.  “The Player could log on at any moment.”

He went on to discuss operational priorities with each individual department, also simultaneously.  There were briefings to prepare for detectives on the Player’s roster, field assignments to issue for the Infoscan Support teams, reports to read from Commercial Investigations (the side of the agency that actually took everyday cases from private, paying clients), figures to be analyzed for his monthly meetings with Finance, a handful of R&D projects for which Z-Section had requested approvals, and – last but not least – a memo from M-Section requesting a security read-in.

It took the Chief less than seven minutes to delegate nearly all of the routine administrative trivia, though he reserved two of the detective briefings (Armando’s and Tatiana’s) for personal attention.  He approved two of Z-Section’s proposals but denied a third (“Why would we want to make naked mole rats smarter?”).

That left the M-Section request.  “All right, Sara,” he told his administrative assistant.  “I’ll pop over whenever the Ambassador’s ready.”

#

_Ashland, OR • 8:12 am_

Carmen Sandiego had just finished a leisurely breakfast in one of her favorite safe houses.  It was just a block away from one she had disposed of after Zack and Ivy had found it during a certain Halloween caper – and therefore, she reasoned, in the last place they were likely to look the next time.

She didn’t really need to glance at the status indicator on her highly customized wristwatch to know that the Player was still offline.  For her, there was a certain tingle in the back of her mind that she felt only when the Game was in motion, and just now it was entirely absent.

So she rose, collected a stylish brown beret from a rack by the door, and headed out into the morning sunshine.  The [Shakespeare Festival](http://osfashland.org/)’s box office would be open by now, and with luck, there would still be a seat available for one of today’s afternoon performances.  Even if both matinees were sold out (not unusual at the height of summer), they might well find a ticket for longtime donor Andrea G. Moscine – whom they would never in the world suspect of being the world’s greatest thief.

#

_New York City, NY • 11:16 am (8:16 am Pacific)_

Five of the seven people in the conference room half-jumped from their seats in surprise as the Chief’s avatar -- surrounded as always by its pink holographic containment field – popped into existence.  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” the Chief said.  “I promise I’ll try to make this quick.”

The dark-haired man seated at the opposite end of the oval table stared at him, then swiveled his chair to his right.  “Just a moment.  _This_ is the head of Acme?”

The aide nodded uncomfortably.  “That’s correct, Mr. Ambassador.  This is the Chief.”

The newly appointed US Ambassador to the United Nations blinked in astonishment.  “You can’t possibly be serious.  That’s a – a cartoon character!”

“I may resemble that remark,” the Chief said, delivering the phrase in a Groucho Marx voice, “but I assure you that Acme is in good hands.  Or pixels, at any rate.”

One of the three women at the table spoke up.  “The Chief’s status – both individual and professional – has been legally recognized by Security Council resolution.”

The Ambassador gave her a sharp look, then shrugged.  “Very well, then, let’s get on with it.  I gather this has something to do with Acme’s status as a UN-sanctioned law enforcement organization?”

“Correct!” said the Chief, instinctively triggering a game show right-answer _ding!_   “You’re aware, of course, that one of Acme’s ongoing missions is the pursuit and capture of Carmen Sandiego.”

“Mostly pursuit,” the Ambassador replied dryly, “considering the number of years Ms. Sandiego has been at large.  Go on.”

The Chief resisted the impulse to give him an electronic raspberry.  “What you won’t have known till now is that our relationship with Carmen is governed in substantial part by an outside factor – and I mean _way_ outside.”  He manifested a pair of hands, stretching them – and his containment field – several feet outward before the field snapped back to normal size with a _sproing_!

The Ambassador raised an eyebrow.  “Specifics, please?”

“Getting there,” the Chief said.  “I don’t suppose you’re a science fiction buff?”

“Not especially,” said the Ambassador, giving him a severe look.  “The point being?”

The Chief waggled his own eyebrows in an exaggerated Spock impression.  “It makes the explanation easier – I could tell you we’re part of a sub-prime reality, and you’d have some idea what I was talking about.”

“Sub-prime reality?”

The Chief sighed.  “All right, try it this way.  If you think of me as an artificial intelligence – which I don’t, but then I wouldn’t, now would I? – then you could think of the reality we’re living in as an artificial universe.”

The Ambassador scowled.  “I think I’m getting a headache.”

“I don’t blame you,” the Chief told him.  “M-Section’s been debating the cosmology for years now, and they go through Excedrin like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Then let’s bypass the physics lesson,” the Ambassador said, “and get to the bottom line.”

The Chief gave him a skeptical glance, then nodded.  “All right, here’s the straight scoop: Acme and Carmen Sandiego are on opposite sides of a game – only our whole universe is the game board, and the Player is sitting in a reality one level up from ours.”

The Ambassador stared at the Chief.  “You can’t possibly be serious.”

“I told you it’d make more sense if you were a sci-fi buff.”

“I refuse to believe—”

The Chief cut him off.  “Unfortunately, that isn’t an option,” he said.  “Game Command channel, open.  NPC Editor, open.”  A holographic infoscreen fizzed into existence above the conference table.  “Your full name, please?”

The Ambassador gave the Chief a fierce scowl, but responded.  “[William Blaine Richardson III](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bill_Richardson).”

“NPC record William Blaine Richardson III, open,” said the Chief.  “Flag for M-level awareness and apply: authorization C-zero-zero-zero-seven Poindexter.  Aaaand execute.”  There was a series of bleeps and warbles as data flashed across the Chief’s display, followed by a _POP!_ and a flash as the infoscreen evaporated.

The Ambassador took a breath and blinked.  “What in Hades did you just do?”

“Read you into Acme M-level clearance,” the Chief said, deliberately softening his voice a little.  “That’s M for Meta, by the way.  Now you _will_ have a headache for a couple of hours; that’s the brute-force technique.  But trust me, it’s still easier than having the game engine decide for itself how to convince you the game is for real.”

“And what do I do with M-level clearance now that I have it?” the Ambassador asked, in a tone that no longer held any hint of aggressiveness.

The Chief chuckled.  “Mostly, try to keep out of the way whenever Carmen goes on one of her sprees.  The only people the game engine really seems to track are those actively involved in a game situation – Acme detectives, Carmen’s henchmen, and so on.  But it also makes sure nothing gets in the way of the game conflict – and that means you need to know the score so you can keep bystanders out of the line of fire.”

“Understood,” said the Ambassador.  “I think.  In the meantime, I don’t suppose you could recommend some good science fiction?”

#

_San Francisco, CA • 9:03 am_

“You going to spend the whole day in your room, little bro?” Ivy demanded from Zack’s doorway.

Zack glanced over his shoulder at her – though his typing speed didn’t seem to suffer for it.  “Could be.  Z-Section still won’t let me touch the C5 source code, but I finally talked Dr. Carter into letting me study the transit activity logs.  If I can find a pattern in the data, maybe I can figure out why our exit points keep getting bumped just that little bit sideways.”

“Your loss.  It’s a gorgeous day out there, and as long as we’re off the clock—”

“—you’ll be in the clouds,” Zack finished.  “Going anywhere particular, or just flying in circles?”

Ivy shrugged.  “Maybe a little of both.  I’ve got that gift certificate for the spa up in Oregon ...”

Zack made a face.  “Have fun, sis.”

“Oh, I will.”  Ivy grinned at him, pulled on her jacket, and headed for the front door.

#

_The skies over northern California • 12:14 pm_

_Gorgeous_ , Ivy reflected, had been an understatement.

Zack had been wrong in one respect; there was scarcely a cloud anywhere.  She was flying over wilderness country – high enough to keep clear of all but the tallest peaks, low enough to appreciate the ruggedness of the landscape beneath her.  [Mt. Shasta](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Shasta) gleamed at her from off to the east, and she angled up a bit as her single-seat plane cruised nearer to the peak. The certificate had been a completely unexpected birthday gift, and she might well not get another chance to redeem it....

“North it is,” Ivy said aloud, and reached for the radio.

#

_Ashland, OR • 5:40 pm_

Ivy took another sip from her iced tea – raspberry ginseng, with just a touch of lemon – and set down the glass.  _I’ve got to do this more often_ , she told herself.  The spa session had lasted a little over two hours, including a deep, skillful hour-long massage that had left her more physically relaxed than she’d felt in ages.  It was early for supper, but an ice cream shop just down the block and across the street had looked inviting, and so she’d bought herself a modest sundae and the iced tea, settled at one of its outdoor tables, and spent a few peaceful minutes watching the crowds of summer tourists pass by.

An upward glance found the sky still cloudless and the sun still well above the horizon; it wouldn’t set for several hours yet.  But the airfield at Medford was several miles away by taxi, and if she wanted to be home before dark it was probably time to be on her way.

#

As Ivy stepped into the cab, the tall red-haired woman seated just down the block on the hotel restaurant’s sidewalk patio smiled quietly, brushing a few nearly invisible graham specks from her cowl-necked tunic.  Sometimes, she reflected, the best disguises were the simplest. Carmen had noted the ever-so-casual flicker of Ivy’s eyes as the Acme agent took in everything and everyone within a block of her own table, even during a day of pure recreation.  But Ivy was so used to encountering Carmen in her signature red and black that she had never so much as blinked when her gaze swept past “Andrea”, who dressed in plain dark cinnamon and pale desert tan.  _Au revoir, Ivy_ , Carmen thought, savoring the last bite of her chocolate-mousse cheesecake.  _We’ll meet again soon enough.  And now you’ll be in top form when we do – which is just as it should be._

#

_San Francisco, CA • 9:15 pm_

“Ivy!” Zack said as his sister came into the house.  “You’ll never guess what I figured out!  I think Carmen’s worked out a way to hack into the C5!”

 “That wouldn’t surprise me one bit,” Ivy told him, chuckling.  “So is Z-Section going to let you try fixing it?”

His expression soured.  “They’re thinking about it.  But hey,” he went on more cheerfully, “any excitement on your travels today?  Attack helicopters?  Flocks of rampaging crows?  Ninja invaders in the sauna?”

Ivy gave him a sisterly glare.  “All quiet on the western front, little bro; not even a stray pigeon.  Let me know what the Chief says about your theory. I’m going up to check my email.”

#

_Ashland, OR • 10:11 pm_

“[Message for you, sir!](http://www.dailywav.com/program.php?Program=MontyPython_HolyGrail)” Carmen Sandiego’s laptop said in Eric Idle’s voice, accompanied by the _thwack_ of a virtual arrow.  Its owner looked up from the book she was reading, then tucked a _Romeo & Juliet_ bookmark into it, rose, and crossed to her desk.

In the few moments it took her to read the message, her expression flicked rapidly from curiosity to surprise and finally wry amusement.

> _To: Carmen Sandiego <CarmenS@vile.net>  
>  From: Ivy <Ivy@AcmeDA.org>  
>  Subject: Just Desserts_
> 
> _Finally got around to using your present today; gesture very much appreciated.  Massage was fantastic, scrub and sauna ditto, well worth the flight up.  Am definitely going back as budget permits._
> 
> _Ivy_
> 
> _PS: You’re still going down next crime, of course._
> 
> _PPS: That chocolate cheesecake looked really good.  OTOH, the beret just doesn’t look right on you – with that outfit you need a newsboy or maybe a Panama._

Carmen eyed the screen thoughtfully for several moments, then sighed.  It would be a pity, but clearly it was time to retire the safe house and move on.

Then:

 _Thwack!!_ “Message for you, sir!”

> _To: Carmen Sandiego <CarmenS@vile.net>  
>  From: Ivy <Ivy@AcmeDA.org>  
>  Subject: One more thing_
> 
> _PPPS: As long as it stays off the clock, I figure what happens in Ashland can stay in Ashland. I’d hate to make you give up[ashiatsu](http://www.massagetherapy.com/articles/index.php/article_id/836/Ashiatsu-) that good on my account._

Carmen Sandiego laughed aloud.  “Ivy, my dear, I daresay there’s hope for you yet.”

# # #


End file.
